Erdman threw off his heavy cap and bent toward the book, with a little gesture of wonder. "I heard about Christoph's book—a good many times," he said softly.... "I didn't ever think I'd see it." He reached out his hand and touched the open page.
"Nobody ever saw it," said Sebastian absently. He was humming to himself. "Listen to this!" he said eagerly. He hummed a few bars. "That's Buxtehude's—isn't it great!" His face went tumpty-tumpty with the notes, and the blue eyes shone. "But this is the one I like best—listen!" He turned over the pages rapidly. "Here it is. This is Reinken's. 'By the waters of Babylon, by the waters, by the waters of Babylon.'" He hummed the tune below his breath—and then louder and fuller.... The clear, sweet soprano of the notes died away softly. "Some day I shall play it," said Sebastian lingeringly. "Some day. See—here is the place for the harps! And here are the great horns. Listen!" His voice droned away at the bass and ran into the swift high notes of the treble. "Some day I shall play it," he repeated wistfully.
Erdman's slow gaze was following the page. "I can't read so fast," he said enviously.
Sebastian smiled back. "I know it by heart—almost. When the moon was behind the clouds I waited. I sang them over and over."
"Very softly," said Erdman, as if seeing the picture of the boy and the darkened room.
"Very softly," assented Sebastian, "so that no one should hear. And now I have them all!" He spoke exultingly. "And next month I shall see Reinken.... I shall hear him play!"
The other stared at him. "But Reinken is at Hamburg," he said at last.
"And that, too, is so," said Sebastian smiling.
"And we go to Lüneburg——"
"And we go to Lüneburg!" repeated the boy, with a mocking lilt in his voice. "And Lüneburg is twenty miles from Hamburg. Hadst thought of that!" He laughed exultingly.